


On A Good Day - Part Two

by SanSanFanFan



Series: The On A.... Day SanSan Smut Series [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hound fights for his master's pleasure.  Sansa watches, and remembers his own pleasuring of her...</p><p>More smut, some plot, you know the drill!</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Good Day - Part Two

Sansa fidgeted on the hard stone seat, boiling under the sun, and already dreading the day’s entertainment. Joffrey had seen her placed to his left, just beyond the edge of the canopy that had been set up across from the battlements where the knights were due to joust. Margaery had given her some sympathetic glances from her shaded place by Joffrey’s right side, but like him she was surrounded by cushions and sipping a cold glass of Arbor gold. Sansa had not been offered a single drink, and the servants were all acting as though deaf… but she straightened her back and concentrated on looking unperturbed. A few hours in the sun wouldn’t hurt her really, not compared to the steel that was going to be aimed at Sandor this afternoon.

They’d made their way separately to the battlements after their morning’s tryst. He had been certain that Joffrey would want his dog to show his teeth, so he’d gone straight there to await the King’s orders. Sansa had walked a circular route that had brought her there just as the Hound was throwing some practice blows at a cowering man-at-arms, stripped to the waist. Sansa tried to admire his form out of the corner of her eye as she took a seat on the baking stone. The way his muscles moved as he swung his blade in an over arm circle was making her shift slightly in her seat. But she was more unsettled by the thought of his fighting in the tourney. This was the first time she had seen him fight others of his ability since Joffrey’s name day… the first time since they had begun… doing what they were doing. And she had no desire to see him hurt. In fact, the thought of it made her a little sick to her stomach.

But Joffrey was already gloating at the prowess of his Hound, rising from his cushioned seat to point out the aggression and brutality of Sandor’s abilities. He had glared at Sansa as she took her lowly seat, and wandered over to whisper in her ear.

“Did you enjoy being put to bed by my dog?”

“No your Grace.”

“You did. You enjoyed him taking your clothes from you. Did he touch you, Stark?” Joffrey was leaning one hand on her stoney seat, the other still swirling the cold wine about as he hissed at her. “Did my dog’s paws get you dirty?”

“No your Grace, he did not touch me.” 

“Good. I’m going to sell your maidenhood, you know. Sell your right to Winterfell. And when you’ve been wedded and bedded, I’m going to take you. Maybe I’ll have him take you with me. Would you like that?!”

She found her bottom lip trembling, which seemed to please him very much. “As your Grace wishes.” It was not the thought of being with the Hound that saddened her, the opposite. It was the thought of sharing those moments with the vile King that almost brought sobs from her.

“You can suck my cock as I sit on the throne your traitor brother wanted… and the dog can mount you from behind.” 

Her face paled, and her eyes flicked quickly to where Sandor was warming up. He was watching! Gods, no! He was watching the King whispering at her! He turned and swung his sword viciously hard at the man-at-arms shield, cleaving his shield in two. The man fell, but Sandor helped him up again with a gruff apology.

“As… as your Grace wishes…” Tears were forming at the corner of her eyes, and Joffrey smiled triumphantly. 

“Good. Good.” He sauntered back to his seat and gestured imperiously. “Make the selections!”

A page walked amongst the competitors. Sansa recognised most of the Kingsguard, the men who had beaten her on the King’s orders. And there was Loras Tyrell, his armour more florid and obvious than the others’. There were some other knights of little note, but Sansa’s eyes were watching Sandor as he reached into the page’s sack and placed in his token, a small carving of a dog. He drew out a carving, but it was too far away for Sansa to see clearly. But then another page moved a wooden shield with the three dogs of House Clegane to a position next to the flower of Highgarden for the first round. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Margaery. “Don’t worry…” she whispered to Sansa, around the back of Joffrey. “He’s been putting in a lot of practice with his sword lately.” Sansa flushed for a moment, thinking that she meant the Hound, but then she continued, “And Highgarden armour is among the best.” 

Sansa felt bad, Margaery obviously thought she should be supporting Loras. And perhaps she should. Once, he would have been her only focus. But now… She smiled back at Margaery, but prayed under her breath for the Hound.

Other sigils were moved around, marking the early rounds. It seemed that the Hound and the Knight of Flowers were actually going to fight later on, and Sansa felt her concentration ebbing under the heat of the sun as she waited for them to begin. Others fought. Some men won and some men lost. She did not keep track of them. She found herself wandering into daydreams. Memories really, of their brief times together. 

One day, when she had called the dog, he had pulled her into one of their favourite hidden rooms and they’d had a tourney of their own. On the floor of the forgotten parchment store she had rolled with him as each one had tried to get the other pinned to the floor. She had giggled at the ridiculousness of it. He was a hundred times her strength, and had he truly wanted to, pinning her to the floor was the work of but a moment. Instead, he’d let her get the fiercest warrior of the seven kingdoms under her, let her push his hands above his head by his wrists as though she could capture him like that. For a moment at least, and then he’d swept her over, raising her hands above her head as she had done with him. He’d rubbed himself along the length of her then, ignoring her protests that she couldn’t touch him as he gently forced her thighs apart with his legs. But then he had let her turn the two of them again, so that she was on top and straddling him, and rubbing herself against him as he had done. 

Her hair had come out of its braids with their tumbling, and they had knocked a shelf, depositing rolling reams of parchment on themselves. It crackled and whispered as they twisted more, neither willing to give up their superior position. And then he had cheated by grabbing both her wrists in one of his large hands and pinning her as he loosened her dress and found a breast to tease and fondle. She’d laughed and then retaliated by surrounding him with her legs in a most unladylike way, her skirts falling away from the smooth length of her legs as she hooked them about him. He’d smiled his hunter’s smile and had quickly picked her up, moving her with ease to sit her facing him in his lap, his hardness pushing against her through their clothes and creating a delicious friction.

“This way…” he’d whispered, his excitement making him breathless. “This way we can both win…” 

“I would have won in the end!”

“Oh is that so, girl?”

“Yes. You can only win the once. But I can win many times over… and therefore win the battle!”

He looked at her with mirth and curiosity. “So girl, you think that I can urge you to more than one song?”

“Remind me, how exactly is it that knights challenge each other?”

He had kissed her hard them, and slipped a hand inside where the two of them were closest, finding his way underneath the rumple of her skirts to where she wasn’t wearing small clothes. He had groaned as he found that out, and quickly he was rubbing at her, while his crooked mouth worked on teasing and lightly bruising her sensitive breasts. He had been relentless in his attention, using his other hand to circle her behind through her skirts, before that too had found its way to her core, and a finger worked its way into her depths and pushed in and out of her in a dizzying rhythm. Both hands working together on her had driven her to the edge quickly, and then she fell hard against him as the swell took her. She had panted and smiled, her hair falling over her face. 

“How many… ‘conquests’ are there in a battle?” She asked sweetly, as she had moved slowly to work at the laces of his breeches.

“You should really be asking how many battles there are in a campaign, little bird.” He had then taken her hips in his hands and eased her slowly onto himself, making her feel every inch, already moving her towards another ‘conquest’.

“Sansa?” Margaery’s voice interrupted her recall of the tourney in the parchment room.

“Yes?” She looked up to see Margaery’s lightly silk clad form above her.

“You did not answer sweetling, and I feared that the heat had gotten to you… you look so flushed!”

Sansa’s eyes went quickly to Joffrey’s seat, but he wasn’t there. She found him again gesturing to the Hound as the man had his armour buckled on.

Margaery sighed. “I am afraid he will not be happy unless his dog hurts poor Loras.”

“Do you… do you think that is likely?”

“Hmmm? Loras is younger and faster. Do not fret Sansa darling. I doubt the Hound will harm him.”

Joffrey was returning, and Margaery made her way back to her seat both quickly and in an unhurried, elegant way that Sansa envied. 

She was surprised when the King gestured furiously at a lowly lordling at her side and took the man’s seat. Servants rushed over to quickly form a canopy above him.

“My dog is going to crush the pretty Knight of Flowers. You like him don’t you?”

“Your Grace?” Her heart stopped.

“The Highgarden pansy? He’s caught your eye for a long time now.”

“Your Grace.” Her tone was neutral, meaning anything and nothing.

The two warriors began circling each other, the Hound’s fearsome snarling dog helm facing the overwrought flowers of Loras’ helm. At first it seemed that they were equally matched, the Hound’s greater experience and strength balanced by Loras’ youth and speed. But then the Hound’s willingness to free the beast inside beat the Tyrell youth back against the boundaries of the makeshift ring, the clang of steel on steel ringing through Sansa’s head and worsening a building headache there.

“Perhaps… perhaps I’ll wed you to the winner. Make the bout more interesting. A wager if you like.” Sansa looked up at Joffrey in disbelief, but he was staring at the two men with a sick glee on his face.

But then it seemed to Sansa that the older man was tiring, his swings held less force, and were slower. And once he had found himself on the dust of the battlements, rolling away as a blade fell towards him. She started to worry, had they… had she worn him out earlier in the day? They had not known about the tourney until Margaery had arrived, otherwise she might have begged him to save his strength for the fight, instead of… instead of taking her against the stones of the keep…

Then it happened. He was just a little too slow to block Loras’ blade, and it carried on to bite into his side and through the studded mail there. The force of the blow pushed the breath from him, and he fell to one knee.

A page bellowed in a cracking voice. “Does the Hound yield?”

He tried to get up again, but fell to two knees. Sansa fought the urge to stand and run to him.

“I fucking yield!”

Joffrey cursed the air blue and then glared at Sansa. “I only said ‘perhaps’ I would wed you to the winner.” He laughed then as something occurred to him. “Though, if I did give you to Loras I might be able to sell your maidenhood twice over!” 

Sansa was confused, but she was more concerned with the Hound’s well-being. He was being escorted from the sparring circle, and he held his side, blood turning his hand red. They were also clearing it from the ring for next fight now, and she couldn’t see where they had taken him.

Joffrey was deep in thought. Then he gestured to Ser Meryn Trant, who was just nearby, drinking cold wine as he recovered from his own bout with an unfortunate knight of a lesser Stormlands house. 

“‘Lady’ Stark… I do believe you should learn from the Lady Margaery’s almost divine example of charitable womanhood.” Margaery started to protest, but the King shushed her harshly. “Trant, take the Lady Stark to the Hound’s kennel. She’s to care for him till he’s mended. Make sure you take water to clean him with. And a bedpan…. My lady.”

Sansa nodded demurely, desperation to see him building in her chest. Punishment or not.

***

_Evening…_

He slept for a while, his face curiously free of its usual lines and tensions as he napped. She watched him for a while after she had let her song drift to silence when sleep had claimed him. She was under orders but she didn’t know if she was meant to return to her own rooms for the night, but she imagined so… Until then she sat patiently in the chair by his bed, wondering if he would need her help again before the night came.

When finally she saw his eyes flicker open the shadows of the room had gotten so long and so dark she was considering looking for a candle to light. She doubted he would have any here though…

“Still here, girl?”

“I didn’t know if I was to leave or not.” 

“Aye. Though it’s a sweet thing to see your face as I wake.”

She blushed and he laughed darkly. “Only you can touch a man as you did me earlier, and still redden when he tries to charm you!”

“You are trying to charm me, ser?” The title was almost a reflex, and she worried as she saw him brindle at it. “Sorry, I did not mean…”

“Think on another name for me, girl. And bring me wine. And there’s a small book on the rotation of crops on that dresser I might read…”

“A book on crops?!”

“I am not fucking unlettered!”

“No, I didn’t mean that! I am just surprised…”

“Maybe one day I will be one of those lords with lands…”

He left that hanging there between them, looking away slightly from her curiosity filled eyes. Then she remembered their conversation of the morning, and how he had thought she might want another with better lands, and something hurt in her chest for him.

“Is there be anything else you desire…?”

He paused, and when he spoke it was with a seriousness she did not often get from him. 

“Bring me things. Things you find on your way to care for me. Stones. Feathers you find around the keep. Flowers. Whatever you find. One for every day you are here with me.”

“For your collection… of good days?”

She thought he would not answer, and then he nodded and she smiled at him.

“Of course!” She smiled at the thought of pleasing him.

But the next day she brought him not one stone, but three.

He looked at them sat in the palm of her hand with a quizzical eye. “I don’t think you understood me… I meant you to bring only one stone, or some small thing that caught your eye. Only one a day.”

“And I do not think you understood me yesterday morning. So I wrote it in… or rather… on stone, to make it more certain...”

She turned them over with her other hand, one by one. She had spent hours combing the gardens for three that were alike in shape and flatness.

And on each she had painted a word.

_Come._

_Here._

_Dog._


End file.
